


Scars

by CelticWarriorMoon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashback, Hurt/Comfort, I guess some emotional abuse too, I'm so cruel, M/M, Manipulation, McHanzo - Freeform, Memories, Physical Abuse, Scars, Shimada Clan, Suffering, it's not such a crime is it, just let Hanzo show his emotions goddamnit, traumatic past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticWarriorMoon/pseuds/CelticWarriorMoon
Summary: There were just some things that Hanzo Shimada would rather have Jesse McCree not know, especially when it came to his traumatic past. That all changes when, during an intimate moment, his American lover happens upon a set of scars across Hanzo's skin. Just what are they, and how did they get there? Hanzo has no choice but to bare all, and finally give his lover a glimpse into his traumatic past. Rated mature for violence and general abuse/distress.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this fic is loosely based off of an artwork by emBBu-chan on DeviantArt. They basically had the headcanon that Hanzo would have often been physically punished by his elders for not always complying with his family's strict rules and expectations. So in this fic, I'd put Hanzo at about 15 or 16 - he's definitely not supposed to be a child, but it's also before he got his symbolic dragon tattoo at age 18.

"Han, darlin'... what're these?"

The second his lover's hands stopped suddenly at the skin of his upper back, Hanzo instantly knew that there was something afoot.

As he should have.

He knew it wouldn't take long for McCree to find the raised, aged, physical remnants of a dark and turbulent past. Sooner rather than later, he knew, the cowboy's wandering hands would have happened upon the harsh lines and indentations that crisscrossed his skin, and he would have to dredge up memories better left forgotten.

Hanzo sighed. The feeling of McCree's warm hands delicately tracing the newly-discovered marks should have brought him comfort, but now it only served as a reminder of the irreversible punishments he had had to suffer a long time ago.

"They're... nothing, Jesse," he hesitantly answered. "Nothing to worry about."

He was only lying to himself.

He regretted it as soon as he had said it, knowing full well that his lover would want to know every detail.

The deliberate, delicate movement of McCree's hands stopped temporarily.

"They ain't nothin', sweetheart," was his concerned reply. "They're somethin' and they sure as hell don' belong on you."

Hanzo closed his eyes. There was a palpable silence between the two men for a few moments, before McCree broke it with a sigh. Gently, he brought a hand to Hanzo's long, unbound hair, where he idly teased the mahogany strands through his careful fingers.

Looking Hanzo deep in the eye, he pleaded, his voice little more than a whisper, "Please, jus' tell me what happened to ya. Can't have ya bottlin' stuff up on me all th' time. Please."

Detaching himself from his lover's hold, Hanzo walked over to their bed and sat on the very edge, tense. Involuntarily, he shuddered. He had always dreaded this day, even when he had settled in with his lover and it had become clear what he was getting into. He should have known that, of all people, Jesse McCree would be the one who'd eventually come to know and love every small part of his body, every insignificant detail.

Patting the space beside him, motioning for his partner to join him, the archer looked at the ground and took a deep breath, before letting it go in a weary sigh.

"If you really want to know the truth, Jesse, I'll tell you everything now."

Settling beside his Japanese lover, McCree placed an arm tenderly around Hanzo's shoulders.

"Go on," he gently prompted, in a low voice.

Closing his eyes, and taking another deep, shaky breath, Hanzo started to tell his difficult tale.

"As a child, I was always destined to lead the Shimada Empire to greatness. I would push myself to achieve that goal with every hour, with every day I trained. Most of the time, I was praised for my efforts. But sometimes... sometimes it wasn't enough..."

........................

_He had no idea where he had gone wrong._

_He had thought that, despite his flaws and weaknesses, that his family would still see their future leader shining through._

_But, if so... why did he find himself here, in a small, dark basement room, his wrists bound tightly together with rope, stripped to the waist and forced to his knees, with only an armed, imposing family elder for company?_

_One bad day of sword training and English lessons out of many flawless others surely wouldn't - couldn't - cost, would it...?_

_The vicious crack of the leather against his exposed skin and the accompanying sting, the biting pain, told the young Hanzo Shimada otherwise._

_Biting hard on his bottom lip, determined not to show any outward signs of weakness - it had been drilled into him since a young age that it was not permissible for him to do so, after all - Hanzo braced himself for more agony._

_"The last thing the Shimada Empire needs is a weakling, Hanzo," came the gruff, uncaring voice behind him, as he felt another bolt of pain dart through his back. Blood now seeped from the involuntary puncture in his bottom lip as he again struggled to fight against the unbearable sensation. It trickled down his chin and dripped to the cold hard floor, an unwanted splash of colour against the grey._

Why... what did I ever do to deserve this?

_"You were not born to be weak, young man. Perhaps we need to toughen you up a bit. Perhaps that's the only way you'll learn. If you have to be pushed this hard in the right direction... so be it."_

_Hanzo tightly closed his eyes. He didn't like those patronising words one bit._

Please... stop... it won't happen again...

_The inner pleas of the young Hanzo were ignored as yet another blow rained down upon his skin. This one was stronger, and carried much more pain. The initial shock of the strike soon gave way to the accompanying feeling of blood - his blood - being let loose in a warm, narrow stream from the fresh wounds._

Please...

_This time, he didn't even try to stop himself from crying out in pain._

_"Please, stop!"_

_Perhaps this was the wrong thing to do._

_There was a pause - a brief, miraculous pause - before he once again heard the harsh reprimanding voice of his elder._

_Seemingly ignoring the Shimada heir's pain-racked gasps, he only sternly said, "It didn't have to be the hard way, young man. If only you would stop and consider the consequences of your failures..."_

_Gritting his teeth together, and keeping his eyes screwed tightly shut, Hanzo tried, in vain, to ignore the throbs of pain that emanated from his upper back. The blood trickled from the whip wounds steadily, without stopping, the unpleasant warmth and stickiness only adding to his suffering._

_"You can not afford to fail us, Hanzo Shimada!"_

_The elder's harsh words were punctuated by the all-too familiar crack of the leather against the broken, bloodied skin. Once again, despite his efforts, the young heir could not stop a yell of pain escaping his mouth. Hot tears eased their way out of his tightly closed eyes, where they streamed down his cheeks in a display that his family would only see as visible weakness._

_He didn't care._

_"I'm not... a failure!"_

_He could only barely manage to squeeze out those few words through his overwhelming fog of pain._

_He couldn't be entirely sure if his defiant remark would be heard by his tormentor through his ragged gasps._

_There was no response._

_His desperate words appeared to be in vain._

_The only sound that could be heard, aside from Hanzo's anguished cries, was the horrid, unrelenting snap of the whip against his back. Not once more, nor twice, nor three times. Unending. Repeated, as regularly as the ticking of a clock. Faster and more freely the blood spilled from the fresh open gashes, gashes that stung anew with a fiery, searing pain._

_It must have been about fifty lashes later that the nightmarish ordeal had finally stopped._

_Hanzo was relieved when he slowly opened his eyes to see his tormentor hastily remove the tightly-wound, rough rope that had been binding his wrists together so uncomfortably. Deep red rings marked the skin where the rope had rubbed it raw. But that pain was nothing compared to the ravaged skin of his upper back. His tender skin, so badly damaged, felt as if it had been set afire. If he were to see it for himself, Hanzo was sure it wouldn't be a pretty sight._

_He felt positive that it would be a horrendous sight indeed._

_"I know that I've caused you a lot of pain, Hanzo Shimada, but hopefully that will teach you to apply yourself to your duties. If some lessons have to be learned the hard way, so be it. I trust that you'll be more careful from now on."_

_Trying to hold back his tears, disguising a pathetic sniffle, Hanzo, turning away from his elder, quietly replied, "Yes... of course."_

_All he could do was look on as his tormentor calmly walked over to the entrance to the room._

_"Good, good. Your pain was not for nothing. Excellent."_

But it hurts... __

_Gingerly, Hanzo rubbed his reddened wrists. They felt numb, the blood circulation obviously cut off from his hands. Slowly, he attempted to rise to his feet - only to be swamped by an arresting sensation of unbearable agony. An action that the newly-created scars didn't take all that well to. A few stray rivulets and drops of blood squeezed out of the lesions and cascaded down his skin as he straightened his back, causing him to inhale sharply._

Just focus on leaving this place. Not the pain. Not the pain... __

_Hearing his expression of agony, the older man turned to Hanzo._

_"Just remember that you brought it on yourself, young man. Don't expect me to take pity on you," was the blunt response._

_Hanzo ignored his words, dismissing them as horribly uncaring._

_Which they were._

_Determined to get away from his prison, he bravely rose and made for the exit. The whole room swam before his eyes as he struggled in a futile effort against the tide of agony._

Don't focus on the pain, Hanzo... __

_His noble effort was unsuccessful._

_It didn't take long before the strong current pulled him under, into the welcome, painless blackness of oblivion._

_............................_

_"It was for the best, Hanzo."_

_Hanzo Shimada usually trusted in his father's wise words, but this time he simply could not._

_Not when he was dealing with the severity of a serious, deliberate injury. Still struggling with the unbearable agony of it all._

_True, the blood had long dried and the worst of the awful sensation was over, but the terrible pain still lingered._

_The young Hanzo could only sigh._

_"How? Just what exactly were you trying to achieve -_ aghh! _"_

_His question was cut short by a new, different wave of pain, brought on by the feeling of warm herbal water meeting the vulnerable openness of his wounds. Flinching just a little, he hissed through his teeth._

_Why couldn't the torture just be over already?_

_"Just relax," came his father's soothing response. "Let the herbs do their job. It will only sting for a minute."_

_Easier said than done. It didn't mean that the pungent herbs against the raw skin still didn't hurt._

_He felt his father's gentle hands repeat the process as they moved downwards, the damp cloth soothing the angry lacerations, a few of which still displayed signs of bleeding. Hanzo closed his eyes as he tried to honour his father's words, to ignore this pain. This pain, unlike his hellish experience earlier that day, was not malevolent. It only served to bring about healing._

_But ignoring it was no easy task._

_After a few moments of silence, the only sound to be heard the sloshing of water and the wringing of cloth, Hanzo felt the need to repeat his unanswered question._

_"Why would you order such a thing to be done?"_

_The gentle rubbing motion of the wet cloth ceased. There was an uncomfortable pause, before he heard his father reply._

_"It is only important that we nurture your leadership skills, Hanzo. For the honour of the clan, it is of utmost importance that you take your role seriously. I do not like having to do it the hard way, but... your knowledge of the clan's business, and your experience level as a whole, is a very important asset to our family, and if that is the only way you'll learn it... well, it is what we have to do, I am afraid."_

_The gentle motion of the cloth continued once more, before he added, "I trust that you will continue to focus your efforts on your training, Hanzo. That you've now learned your lesson."_

_Hanzo sighed. Of course he acknowledged how important he was in the scheme of things - he filled a position that Genji never could - but, at times like these, all he wanted was to be spared that burden of responsibility. At least Genji had never been hurt in this way._

_"Yes," was his meek response._

_"Very good."_

_Evidently making sure that the wounds had stopped bleeding, Hanzo's father carefully ran a gentle hand over the deep scars, which only caused the young Hanzo to inhale sharply and stiffen up. Even though he knew he still could not express his emotions, could not appear to be weak in any way, he found it damn near impossible to contain himself._

_"Relax. Deep breath. Let it out. The pain will lessen."_

_Then, in a more serious tone, "the wounds have cut quite deep, Hanzo. They're clearly going to require stitches. I'll go and call for the family doctor immediately."_

_With that, Hanzo was again left to himself, his discomfort his only companion, as his father left the room on his errand._

_..........................._

_Even the sound of the usual night wildlife and the stirring breeze through the cherry blossoms couldn't soothe him to sleep that night._

_Nothing could, it seemed._

_Every time Hanzo turned over, and tried to simply close his eyes and melt into a good night's sleep, the feeling of red-hot needles pin-pricking the tender skin of his back woke him once more._

_He couldn't stand it._

_Groaning to himself, he rose and, pulling back the covers, perched on the edge of the bed. Running a hand through his long, dishevelled hair, he winced at the unpleasant tugging the movement caused at his back._

_He had hated the feeling of the whip scars being sewn up, without an anaesthetic, as if they were merely flimsy fabric and not human flesh. He had hated the roughness of the stark white bandages against his skin that followed, as they threatened to restrict the muscles of his entire abdomen. Like the harshness of the herbal water his caring father had used prior, both only served to unintentionally increase and prolong his suffering. To the point where they prevented him from resting comfortably, it seemed._

_The tired Hanzo, ignoring the uncomfortable shifting of the sutures, sat silently, with nothing but the darkness and the silence of the household keeping him company. His brother would be sleeping soundly by now, no doubt. It had never been hard for Genji to rest his body and mind._

_But why would it have been, Hanzo mused, when he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders._

_Genji would always be blissfully unaware of the troubles, physical or otherwise, that his brother faced on a daily basis._

_He always did his best to help Hanzo through the most trying circumstances, but ultimately, he could never get inside his mind and unlock all the seriousness that pervaded it._

_He would never have to endure strict punishment from those in power, all in the name of preserving an ancient greed._

_He would never be seen as simply a pawn, to be manipulated into submission._

_Hanzo never did return to sleep that night. He instead let the new dawn greet him with its bright colours and birdsong, and struggled to make himself think that maybe, just maybe, today would be different..._

_"Hanzo Shimada, get up. You have a busy day of light training ahead of you."_

_It was not to be._

.........................

"And that is why, Jesse, I tried to work my hardest from that point onwards. I did not want to suffer like that again."

There was a stunned silence, Hanzo's partner too shocked to speak. Too shocked to even ponder aloud how and why one's own family could do such a horrific thing. The chilling story evidently horrified him to the core.

The Japanese archer shuddered. It horrified him, too. Even as he spoke, he could almost once again feel the agonising force viciously connecting with his skin, ripping it wide open.

"I... started to live in fear of what my own flesh and blood could do to me. I became afraid of what would happen if I repeated my mistakes."

He paused.

"Even though I could not physically show it, would never show my true weakness, I became afraid of the pain. I lived and worked under that same fear for the rest of my days spent with the clan. It would never leave. That is why I never questioned them again."

Tears threatened to form in Hanzo's eyes as he recalled the wounding betrayal he had felt. He turned away from McCree, not wanting his partner to see his sadness.

_I was weak..._

His lover was not deterred. Instead, he only softly stroked Hanzo's tense shoulders, hoping to relieve him of the awful weight the shocking memory had placed on him. The gentle massaging movement of his lover's thumb against his skin couldn't help but calm the archer somewhat.

"You're not weak, Han," McCree softly responded, as he brought his free hand to the side of Hanzo's face, delicately brushing back a stray lock of hair. "A little bit'a pain never weakened anyone, jus' made 'em stronger."

Hanzo closed his eyes, evidently not believing the American's words of wisdom.

"You do not understand, Jesse. I was not born to be weak."

He shivered, as he recalled those exact words, the harsh voice that had carried them, the violence that accompanied them.

"You're not weak, darlin'."

"I..."

"You're jus' the strongest, bravest man I ever had the pleasure'a meetin, Hanzo.''

Hanzo couldn't help but feel touched by his lover's encouraging words. Even if it was just an all-too-easy way of comforting him. He opened his eyes, and found himself relaxing into McCree's tender hold.

The cowboy slowly traced the outline of his lover's cheek, before bringing his hand to rest under Hanzo's chin. Gently, he tilted the archer's head upwards so that they were both looking deep into each other's eyes.

A faint smirk made itself visible on McCree's weathered face, before he added, quietly, "Not t'mention the most handsome, too."

Despite his anxious state of mind, Hanzo found himself giving a wan smile at his lover's compliment. He had no intention of letting him know any time soon, but he secretly loved when McCree described him using such praising words.

"Thank you."

_At least someone sees my true worth..._

McCree chuckled.

"It's the truth, ya know," was the cowboy's slightly amused reply. "I ain't never laid eyes on someone as beautiful as yourself before."

Idly, he brought his right hand to Hanzo's thick brown hair, where he softly ran his hand through the silken strands, a gesture which in that moment greatly soothed the archer's distracted mind. Again, he closed his eyes, and found himself enjoying the sensation.

He didn't even have time to open his eyes before he felt himself being pulled closer to his American lover, followed by the feeling of McCree's lips against his own.

He didn't hesitate to return the kiss. Without thinking twice, he brought his arms around his lover's neck, and held him close.

Slowly, sweetly, deeply, the two men lost themselves in their passionate embrace. The fire burning in their hearts seemed to melt away the insecurities and painful memories that Hanzo had unwittingly clung to, and in that moment, he could not have been more glad.

As they both deepened the kiss, Hanzo's left hand buried deep in McCree's chestnut hair and McCree's tenderly making its way to Hanzo's upper back, Hanzo could almost pretend that his skin was an unmarked canvas, one which didn't display signs of an unhappy childhood, and feel like he wasn't a complete failure.

It was at times like these that he was truly glad for the company of his American beloved. He at least would never think such a thing.

He tried to ignore the slight twinge of pain McCree's gentle touch had caused as he slowly pulled away from his lover, ending the kiss. Hesitantly, Hanzo withdrew his hand from his lover's unkempt hair, and instead placed it in his lap. For a few moments, a warm silence rested between them, as the two lovers gazed deeply into each other's eyes.

"Thank you," was again all that the archer could manage, eventually, once the silence had been broken.

McCree gave him an affectionate smile, as he withdrew his hand from Hanzo's back, sensing his discomfort.

"Scars are a thing of beauty, Han," he assured his lover. "They're what makes a man unique. An' you can't go an' tell me that that ain't beautiful."

A pause.

"Like yourself, darlin'. Jus' like yourself."

Hanzo couldn't help but give the slightest smile.

"No. True beauty resides within, Jesse," the archer responded, as he softly placed his right hand on his lover's chest, over his heart. He took in the steady, unceasing pulse beneath his palm, a calming rhythm. "It is who you are on the inside that truly counts."

The cowboy responded to Hanzo's actions by placing his own hand over that of his partner. Warmth flooded through Hanzo's veins at the reassuring gesture.

"An' you may have done some real bad things, Han, but still - y'ain't nothin' short of a beautiful man, inside and out," McCree assured, both his complimentary words and the smooth-as-honey voice which delivered them relaxing the Japanese archer just a little.

For a few heartbeats, there was a silence in the air, before Hanzo then once again heard the cowboy speak up.

"Don' ever feel like you're not worth it, darlin'. You're more than jus' your troubled past, ya know."

_If only that were true..._

It was slightly unfair, Hanzo thought, to assume such a thing. His own story would not be so easily forgotten. Between the physical remnants and the mental scarring that his upbringing had bestowed upon him, he could never, even if he tried, change who he was.

Despite that, there was undeniably a part of his being that knew McCree was right.

"Thank you," he said, in a low voice, as he withdrew his hand.

He knew that, no matter what he tried, that his scars wouldn't fade.

He knew that, even if such a thing were possible, that the mental scars would undeniably linger on.

But when he was with McCree, he could believe in everything he had just said.

He could believe that he wasn't, and never would be, a failure.

Not to some.

Never to Jesse McCree.


End file.
